POEMS. 



BY CHARLES LLOYD. 



Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most 
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, 
The tree of knowledge is not that of life. 

Lord Byron. 



LONDON : 

LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, ANT) 

C. AND H. BALDWIN ; 

AND BETLRY AND OOTTS, BIRMINGHAM. 

1823. 



TKffcf ft 



P.TYV . 









ERRATUM. 



Is "Stanzas on the death of Mary Braithwaite, third 
Sister of the Author," page 77, stanza 13, for 
" How many tears ye shed alone ! 
" How many a pang, how many a groan, 
" Which no one seems to hear !" 
read — How many tears ye shed alone ! 

How many a sigh ye heave unknown. 
Which no one seems to hear ! 



ADDRESS TO A VIRGINIAN CREEPER ; 

OR 

THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY FROM ASSOCIATIONS WITH 

VISIBLE OBJECTS. 



Paradise, and groves 
Elysian. Fortunate fields — like those of old 
Sought in the Atlantic main, why should they be 
A history only of departed things, 
Or a mere fiction of what never was ? — 
For the discerning intellect of man, 
When wedded to tbis goodly universe 
In love and holy passion, shall find these 
A simple product of the common day. 

Wordsworth's Excursion. 



1. 

Jr AIR plant, I see thee with a yearning spirit, 
For thou remind'st me of another place ; — 

And this spot, though it cannot boast a merit 
Beyond retirement's unobtrusive grace, 

From thy pervading influence doth inherit 

One feature, whence the curious mind may trace 

A likeness 'twixt it, and a scene elysian,* 

Such as might bless some favoured poet's vision ! 

* See the description of the Author's residence in the North of Eng- 
land, in the third book of " Desultory Thoughts in London ;" particu- 
larly that part of it where the parasitical plants are mentioned with 
which it was embowered. 

B 



2 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

2. 

As mind of plastic mould we often view, 

Of swift mobility of temperament, 
In opposite extremes its course pursue ! — 

Yet in this giddy whirl of sentiment 
(Fine as the film, whose being the dropped dew 

Alone revealed, its surface which besprent) 
A vestige dwells, unseen of human eye 
Inly betraying its identity. 

3. 

In such mind, absent friends, and absent things, 

Having forgotten, as a hue, a scent, 
A sound, may touch upon those finer strings 

Which call these objects from their banishment ; 
So thou, fair plant, when towards thee mine eye flings 

Its sudden glance (thought all things else prevent 
Feelings, whence this scene might the past restore) 
Canst call up visions dear to me of yore. 

4. 

Oh, never say to him who has a heart ; — 
Oh, never say to him who has a sense, 

Imagination, of the joys which dart, 
From unseen source, beneath thy influence; — 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 6 

Oh, never say to him who has the art 

To waken that deep feeling and intense, 
Whence is with curious speculation viewed 
Similitude in dissimilitude; — 

5. 

Oh, never say to these, that there can be, 
In this wide world, one vacant dwelling place : 

A place, which he, who is with phantasy 

Endowed, may not with richest treasures grace! — 

Say not to him, who has of poesy 

The lofty gift, that he's bereft of space 

For soaring thought, since his allotted home, 

Monotonous, forbids his eyes to roam. 

6. 

No! In the eye that sees, the heart that feels, 
And in th' imagination which controuls 

All forms, that is there which profusion steals 
From what were penury to meagre souls ! — 

And add to this, that contrast* oft reveals 
A source of inspiration, and unrolls 

Oft through the sense which a drear blank surrounds, 

Glories which pass reality's scant bounds. 

* See motto (from Rosseau's Confessions) to " Desultory Thoughts 
in London," and stanza 39, p. 62, of the Poem on the Language and 
Subjects most fit for Poetry. 

B 2 



4 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

7. 

This is a sensuous age ! We scarce can tell 

Whether most pitiful it is, and poor, 
When wood, rocks, lakes, and mountains weave a 
spell 

The heart to melt, the fancy to allure, 
With blank indifference on the whole to dwell : — 

Or not to know, that, when high thoughts obscure 
Man's lower impulses, he well may scorn 
The circumscribing sway of forms earth-born. 

8. 
As there no time is, so there is no place, 

For him uplifted by imagination ! — 
He soars o'er all the little bounds of space : — 

And his own world is of his own creation! — 
'Tis poor to think, the noble mind to raise, 

That need should be of objects of sensation : — 
'Tis poor to think, that, e'en the prison's gloom, 
Must be his mind's, since 'tis his body's tomb. 

9. 

I thank thee, beauteous plant, because that thou 
Remindest me of far more gorgeous scene !* — 

* A residence which the Author possessed near the Lake of Winan- 
dormere : for a description of which see " Desultory Thoughts in Lon- 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER, 5 

But far, far more for this, my grateful vow 

To thee I raise, — (when, as from freshest green, 

To delicate vermeil, and to crimson, now, 

I see thee changing) — since the thought serene, — 

(Inspired by thee, familiar to my glance), 

Comes o'er my spirit, as with rapturous trance, 

10. 

That thou a link art of a mighty chain ! — 

A living presence art, a fiery tress,* 
Conspicuous to my sight, and dost a train 

Of fair experience outwardly express ! — 
E'en as I still my former self retain! 

Although I inly feel, that, not the less, 
In some things I am changed, thou, like a thread 
Of fairy woof, dost past to present wed ! — 

11. 

As in long voyage on the perilous ocean, 
Though not a trace on any side be seen 

don," third book, p. 129, stanza 23, beginning " I had a cottage in a 
paradise." His dwelling on this spot was overgrown with the plant 
here celebrated. 

* To the leaves of the Virginia Creeper may be well applied the lines 
of Mr. Coleridge — 

M The hanging woods which, touched by autumn,, seem 
As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold," 
a* in the decline of the year, they are of the richest crimson, orange, 
and yellow. 



D VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

Of land, though all around the feared commotion 
Of winds, waves, clouds, and darkening mists, 
between 

The eye, and the mind's hope, perplex all notion ; 
Yet still the little loadstone, with serene, 

And superintendant constancy, doth keep 

Its delicate guidance o'er the yawning deep. 

12. 

So in the tempest of life's blackest hours, 

Forms such as we have seen in happiest days, 

Not by association's mystic powers, 
Consolatory feelings only raise, 

But oft from thence (mild as the scent of flowers 
When on their dewy buds fall morn's first rays) 

An intertwining with the days gone by 

Pledges assurance of futurity. 

13. 

These so recurring forms, from time to time, 
From place to place, thus opportunely met, — 

Like beacons to the mariner ; — in clime 

Distant and perilous, like land-marks set ; — 

So, with a sense of what is real, chime 

With all those yearnings which would not forget 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 7 

The past, that each of them appears to be 
Propitious herald of futurity. 

14. 

Who has not felt in mental wretchedness; — 
Or when portentously disease has wrought 

O'er all the being with so rude a stress, 
That it has almost choked the stream of thought, — 

Who, when some big calamity did press 

On life's progress] veness, till it has brought 

A sudden check to purpose ; — that a toy, 

Raised from the past, could blackest spells destroy ? 

15. 

Once by a conflict of deep suffering wrung. 

As by St. Patrick's* awful lake I strayed; — 
(E'en as the fatal robe Alcides flung 

Around his form which poison did pervade, 
So closely to his mighty members clung 

That he to rend it off vain efforts made ; 
Thus was the pest of agony to me, 
And so invincible its agency). 

* Ulswater. In the vale at the head of Ulswater, 1here is a well 
which was formerly dedicated to St. Patrick, whence, the Author be- 
lieves, this vale is called Patterdale, a corruption of Patrick's dale. — 
Cumberland, the Poet, styles Ulswater " Imperial Lake of Patrick's 
dale." 



© VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

16. 

Once in such mood — the crisis of despair — 
I, from the chafing wave, a pebble chose ; — 

Exclaiming, " this I will preserve with care ! — 
" Since" (though the thought in me then strongly 
rose 

That no alleviation whatsoe'er 

Could ever balm my agonizing throes) 

" Should I look on it in a future grief, 

This grief surmounted, it might bring relief.'* 

17. 

This very thought seemed then like prophecy ! — 
Who that has dared in deepest of despair 

To act the part of hope, — who that, with eye 
Internal, o'er a bridgeless gulph could rear 

An edifice fantastic ! — who, when dry, 

Dead to the world, pledged, in that moment drear, 

Himself to another in some fateful deed, 

Whose doing seemed all credence to exceed ; — 

18. 
Such, and no other, can my meaning guess! 

'Tis in the pathless ether beacons rearing ! 
Giving a when, and where, to nothingness ; 

Through unessential vacancy careering ; 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

'Tis bodying with the tongue's audaciousness 

What minds forswear unhoping and unfearing ; 
'Tis trying in the midst of inanition 
To affect to will, when there is no volition. 

19. 

It is in short — (can any words imply 

The dim and dark suggestion) — 'tis a deed 

Whence we impersonate defyingly 

Purposeless purposes ; and since no heed 

Of life we take, and deem it all a lie ; 

We stake the future, — (though to us indeed 

There be no future) — our entire fate stake, 

As we for chess-men did our fellows take. 

20. 

A promise, in despair, seems hope's best theme ; 

Our inner will reality alone 
"Retains; — like stepping stones across a stream, 

So seem the acts by which we clench our own 
With other's fates ; the world a grave doth seem 

And we like spectres of oblivion; 
We wander up and down, as if we were 
Shrunk to one thought of passionless despair. 



10 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

21. 

I could, as then I thought, never know more 
Of dim, foreboding, and foreclosing pain, 
Than then I knew : yet were this anguish o*er, 

And I should thus be visited again, 
This little stone, — though hope's diminish'd lore — 
To this were circumscribed — would breathe this 
strain — 
" Despair, when first thou k newest this, was with 

thee! 
" Thou hast since hoped. What has been, still may 
be! 

22. 
This looking forward, then the little all 

Of hope that I had left, this dim and drear 
Presentiment, that something might befall ; 

And that futurity of all but fear 
Was not quite barren — if I such may call 

Comfort — my only comfort did appear. — 
Yet has that stone in after days of scath 
Suggested many a haunting of meek faith. 

23. 

So the elected* Israelites of old, 

By God commanded, when they reached thy shore, 

* Joshua, chapter the fourth. 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 11 

Overflowing Jordan, each one as we are told, 
Stones of memorial on their shoulders bore. 

These were to be, as future ages rolled, 
To distant generations evermore 

A sign, whence they the hallowed spot might mark, 

Where Jordan's waves retreated from the ark. 

24. 
Thus, as a symbol of past gone despair 

O'ercome, in present sorrow may avail ; 
Or to the mind suggestions may repair 

Of wisdom thence, when carnal joys assail : — 
So may a symbol of past joy declare 

Tidings of hope, when hope's resources fail ; 
So by a symbol of past pleasure fled, 
May we in pleasure be admonished. 

25. 

But this is foreign to my theme ! The thought 

Inspiring it was of that feeling dim 
Which every soul possesses, when by aught 

It is impressed, which seems as 'twere to trim 
The lamp of life afresh, since it hath caught 

(As from the live coal which the Seraphim 
On th' altar placed, Isaiah caught his function) 
From its discovery a vital unction. 



12 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

26. 

Whence is it that the meanest forms we hallow, 
Of utensils, for daily life designed ? — 

Whence is it that all men, save those who wallow 
In sensual brutishness, and unrefined 

Grovelling indulgences, in a dim halo 

Of sacred radiance see those shapes enshrined 

Which speak of other days, and friends long dead ? — 

Whence, but from feeling, is such reverence fed, 

27. 

That they the present with the past connect ? — 
So much these instincts in some hearts preside, 

That forms which cannot by their aid be decked, 
Whatever their worth, whate'er their costly pride, 

From them can challenge nothing but neglect : 
Yet, on the other hand, have they descried 

The meanest utensil a parent used, 

With what intense delight is it perused ! — 

28. 
Some see in forms little to challenge praise, 

Save as they're mute interpreters of love : 
Thence many, without doubt, may wildly raise 

A superstitious structure, which would prove 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 13 

Fatal to nobler aims : since where their gaze 
Was thus allured, they never would remove 
Their thoughts to abstract themes : — such influences, 
Changed Christ's pure laws to *purveyors for the 
senses. 

29. 

But still subordinate to nobler things, 
Just in proportion will such instinct dwell 

In souls, as they possess that power which flings 
O'er lifeless forms a consecrating spell ! — 

Without the fire, which, from such instinct springs, 
Like seedless husk, and unallotted shell 

Were all life's objects! What were scents, forms, 
hues, 

Did moral feeling not her aid infuse ? 

30. 
The more, in all respects, mere form is merged 
In moral feeling", more is spiritualized 

* It need be scarcely here said, that in these lines we refer to the Ro- 
man Catholic rites ; in which, by means of pictures, statues, censers, 
perfumes, music, and architectural ornament, there is an attempt made 
as it were to excite the feelings through the instrumentality of sensuous 
symbols — in which, truths the most abstract, are, as it were, embodied, 
and the very mysteries of religion typified by means of physical hiero- 
glyphics. — This religion certainly tends to the consecration of sensible 
objects, but to secure this end, does it not lower the sublimity of im- 
material ones ? 



14 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

The sentiment with which mute shapes are charged, 

Less are they likely to be idolized 
By physical attachment, more enlarged 

Will they from " th' entire point"* be enfran- 
chised : 
The more we love form's accidents, the less 
On their base bullion shall we lay a stress, 

31. 

We say the finest soul (but mind we say 
This only when nought else doth interfere 

Of higher pressure) will the most array 
Mute forms with an ideal atmosphere, 

Which gives them to the heart a moral sway ! — 
There are we know of stoic mood severe, 

Who superstitious such devotion deem ! — 

The muse is not for them whate'er her theme ! 

32. 

This is a natural instinct. Homer read 
Or Virgil; how do they with care describe 

The helmet, shield, or trappings of the steed 
Belonging to the chief of each bold tribe ? 



* Lore is not love, 
When it is mingled with regards that stand 
Aloof from th' entire point. 

Shakspeare. 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 15 

With what strong eloquence did Ajax plead, 
What elocution did the chiefs imbibe, — 
Convened to award the arms, — from that fine strain, 
Whence Ithacus, Pelides' arms did gain !* 

33. 
Is there a goblet, or a tripod named, 

Is there a belt, a dart, or quiver sung, 
Nor him by whom 'twas given, first proclaimed ? 

Rather such sanctity in those times clung 
To these mute symbols, and so much inflamed 

Were their rude honest hearts when records rung 
In old traditionary tales of these; — 
Their bards immortalized their blazonries. 

34. 

Achilles' shield, who does not recollect ? 

The sceptre of Atrides not recall ? — 
Who can, without a secret awe, reflect 

On Hector's arms, those arms, which, near the 
wall 



* The Author is quite aware that the orations in Ovid to which he 
refers are fictitious, but they have in them all that is necessary to poeti- 
cal truth, as nothing is expressed in them which might not have flowed 
from the lips of the characters to whom they are imputed. 



16 VIRGINIAN CREEPER, 

Of Paris, did in after times protect 

The brave *Orlando, till, love's wretched thrall, 
His sense forsook him ; and which did in vain 
Defend the Paynim by Rogero slain. 

35. 

Ah, who would wish to be the man that could — 

To modernize his ancestral demesne, 
To introduce that gorgeous brotherhood 

Of trees, lawn, water, in his household scene 
Which modern taste demands, — where erst there 
stood 

An ancient vista, venerable skreen 
To his forefather's mansion, — level all, 
Oak, ash, and elm, and triumph in their fall? 

36. 
'Tis fitting to consult what is good taste 

When you original creator are 
Of household scenery : then may well be placed 

Forms in the abstract which are deemed most fair, 



* The arms of Hector are said, by Ariosto, to have descended to Or- 
lando. He threw them from him in a fit of insanity. Zerbino found 
them, and hung them, as a trophy, on the branches of a tree. Mandri* 
cardo seized them, and while wearing them was slain by Rogero. 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 17 

But woe to him be, whose abode is graced 

With aught that brings imagination there, 
Fraught with the feeling of the mighty past, 
And mightier dead ; — and who has this displaced ? 

37. 

Not all the ideal charms of Arcady, 

Not Tempe's vale, nor fam'd Sicilian bowers, 

Though by a wish they all could thither hie, 
Could e'er atone for outrage to those powers 

Of ancient feeling, and sublimity, 

Which he hath chased away ! Exotic flowers 

Never can captivate that awful spirit 

Which did his thick tressed ivy bowers inherit. 

38. 
Oh, whither hast thou led me, beauteous plant ? — 

Yet lead me where thou wilt, I will go on ! — 
My bounding heart receives, with grateful pant, 

The smallest touch of inspiration, 
From forms, e'en animation though they want ! — 

Though still more warmly it perhaps might own 
A higher influence: I've elsewhere decreed, 
" * Be the muse followed wheresoe'er she lead 1" 

* See" Desultory Thoughts in London," opening of third book. 
C 



18 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

39. 

And still I say it. Gorgeous plant and fair, 
My theme began with pointing out thy praise, 

Not only for thy beauty which so rare 

Is, that it well a grateful song might raise; 

But, for the power thou hast, — on charms that were 
By me enjoyed, — again to make me gaze. 

And then, I liken'd thee in this my theme, 

In* a dark path, to still recurring gleam. 

40. 
I said, how sweet it is " from time to time," 

Amid th' oblivious gulph that us surrounds, 
To see past forms reviving : when sublime 

In joy we are, how those of grief redound 
To our monition ; and when being's prime 

Is whelmed in woe, from woes which have been 
crowned 
In their surcease, with comfort, to extract 
Hope, which the present woe might counteract, 

41. 

I have proceeded to commemorate 
That lovely reconciling principle 

* See stanza 13 of this poem. 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 19 

Which doth impart to forms inanimate 
A moral character, — that curious skill 

Which objects or from age cloth consecrate, 
Or from the fact that they are symbols still 

Of hoar antiquity, and friends lov'd well !— 

Now, to this added, of them will I tell 

42. 
How much more lov'd are they when they combine 

Thoughts of the past, or of great deeds of old, 
Or of departed friends, and also shrine 

Our youthful recollections in their cold, 
And hallowed blazonries ? Who would not pine 

To see some heir-loom, which of past times told — 
Since of unwieldy size, or cumb'rous, 'twere, — 
Changed for some modern gew-gaw's tinsel glare ? 

43. 

Who does not recollect the glad exclaim* 
Made by Geneva's sage, when he beheld 

The Periwinkle, just the very same 

With that of which in youth he was compelled 

* Je donnerai de ces souveuirs unseul exemple, qui pourra faire juger 
de leur force, etdelenr verite. Le premier jour que nous allamesaux 
Charmettes, Maman 'etoiten chaise a porteurs, et je la suivois a pied. 
Leohemin monte ; elle etoit assez pesante, et craignant de trop fati- 

c2 



20 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

To take note by a friend much lov'd ; whose name 

Then he first learned, nor since in croft or field 
Had he surveyed its glossy leaves, and blue, 
Meek blossom, — till again seen at Belle Vue ? 

44. 

Who can forget how eloquently he, 

*Rousseau, doth that same local feeling paint,— 
A feeling, with as strict identity 

Fettered, imperiously, with dim restraint, 

guer sesporteurs, elle voulut descendre a peii pres a inoitie chemin, pour 
fairele reste a pied. En marchant, elle vit quelque chose de bleu dans 
la haie, & me dit, " voila de la pervenche encore enjleur," Je n'avois 
jamais vu de la pervenche ; je ne me baissai pas pour 1' examiner : et 
j'ai la vue trop courte pour distinguer a terre les plantes de ma hauteur. 
Je jettois seulement en passant un coup d'oeil sur celle la, et pres de 
trente ans se sont passes sans que j'aie revu de la pervenche, ou que j'y 
aie fait attention. En 1764 etant a Cressier avec mon ami M. du Pey- 
ron, nous montions une petite montagne, an sommet de laquelle il y a 
unjoli salon qu' ilappelle avec raison Bel/e-vue Je commencois alors 
d'herboriser un peu. En montant, et regardant parmi lesbuissons, je 
pousse un cri de joie " ah, voila de la pervenche!" Et e'en etoit en 
effet. Du Peyron s 'appercut du transport, mais il en ignorait la cause ; 
il l'apprendra, je l'espere, lors qu'un jour il lira ceci. Le lecteur peut 
juger, par 1 'impression d'un si petit objet, du celle qne m'ont fait tous 
ceux qui se rapportent a la meme epoque* — Les Confessions de Rousseau, 
tome2de. page 102. 

* Dans les situations diver ses ou je me suis trouve, quelques uns 
ont ete marques par un tele sentiment de Men etre, qu'en les rememorant 
j'en suis affecte comme si j'y etois encore. Non seulement je me rap- 
pelle les temps, les lieux, les personnes, mais toutes objets environ- 
nant, la temperature de Pair, son odeur, sacouleur, une certaine im- 
pression locale, qui ne s'estfait sentir que la, et dont le souvenir vif m'y 
transporte de nouveau. — Les Confessions de Rousseau, tome lere. page 
228. 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER, 21 

To one, one spot, as is the sense whence we 

Derive our selfhood to one person : — faint, 
After his words, would seem another's speech ; 
Their philologic height he could not reach. 

45. 

Saith he not that from some peculiar spot, 
"Where he had known peculiar happiness, 

Though years had o'er him rolled, which well might 
blot 
This from his memory quite, a curious stress 

Of circumstantial features not forgot, 
In after times would often re-possess 

His entire being so, that every sense, 

Drank, as he still were there, its influence? — 

46. 

Saith he not, that the very scent revived — 
That faintest of the intimations, whence 

We absent objects body forth — which lived 
Within its boundaries ; that with eloquence 

Passing all speech, not like to a derived, 
But liker an original impress, thence 

The being of the place came o'er again, 

With force defying e'en his graphic pen ? 



22 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

47. 

And does uot that Colossus of our land, 
The solemn* Johnson, and in later days 

The Apostle of the Methodists, demand 
Attention, as the first of these delays 

His pompous narrative, while with a bland, 
Yet yearning retrospection, he surveys 

The well known post, o'er which, of doublet stripped, 

He leaped again, as he in youth had leaped. 

48. 
The f other, with a deeper feeling, strays 

In that same church-yard, where he, when a youth 
Had often strayed ; on that same spot did gaze, 

From whose plain pulpit, the pure voice of truth 
His ears drank in, when virtue's pleasant ways, 

Appeared more pleasant in a parent's mouth. 
He cries, " How time, year after year, bereaves 
The earth of sons, as forests of their leaves." 

* The Author cannot exactly cite the place in which this anecdote 
is related of Johnson, but he has the most perfect recollection of having 
met with it in an account of him by one of his biographers. The cir- 
cumstance took place near the city of Lichfield, the place of his birth. 

f The days of his childhood returned upon him (Wesley) when he 
visited Epworth ; and taking a solitary walk in the church-yard of that 
place, he says, " I felt the truth of ' one generation goeth, and another 
cometh.' See how the earth drops its inhabitants, as the free drops its 
leaves."— Southey's Life of Wesley, 2d vol. page 548. 

I 






VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 23 

49. 

When *formerJy on Cantabrigia's bleak, 
Monotonous, and level plain, I dwelt, 

If on my sight acclivity did break. 

Though such as almost from my gaze did melt, 

Especially if on its chalky peak 

Black clump of firs lower' d in a gloomy belt, 

How did my heart leap with a feeling strange, 

And instantly its thoughts to Cumbria range ! 

50. 
There had I seen the everlasting hills ! 

And there my constant love was ever fixed. 
Thither when twilight its soft haze distils 

Would my thoughts fly, when with the distance 
mix'd 
Some little eminence my bosom thrills ! 

Yes, when, from Barnwell, then my home, be- 
twixt 
Th' horizon, and the nearer plain, I kenn'd 
Those fir-clad f heights, heights loftier far ascend 

* See Nugae Canorae. Lines addressed to Robert Southey , Esq. from 
Barnwell ; and lines addressed to the Scenery of Cumberland and West- 
moreland. 

f Gog and Magoglills. 



24 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

51. 

Before my vision ! Thus one little point 

Of similarity betwixt a scene 
We now inhabit, and a scene disjoint 

By many a tedious league, will with such keen, 
And efficacious agency, anoint 
The inward eye, that forms which intervene 
Will fade away, and from one small source thence, 
Pageants will rise of vast magnificence ! 

52. 
Whence is it that I — more than e'en I may 

Account for from their own intrinsic worth — 
Love birds and gardens, though in each the play 

Of nature's gladdening hand hath called to birth 
The beautiful and graceful ? When a day 

Had more importance, than — in the drear dearth 
Of middle life — that which long years possess, 
I lov'd them ! — Thence my present tenderness ! 

53. 

Can I a flower behold, nor call to mind 
How in my youthful garden plot I loved 

The self-same flower ? How first its seed consigned 
To earth ? and what an exstacy I proved 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 25 

When from the ground, in which it was enshrined, 

'Twas at first visible ? Scarce could be moved 
A mother's bosom more, when she surveyed 
Her darling's growth, than I, when aught betrayed 

54. 

In this plant's progress to maturity 
Another stage ! than did mine eyes devour 

Its coyly swelling buds, and — ecstacy 

Beyond all this ! — its first consummate flower! — 

Scarce could a mother see with gladder eye 
Of puny nursling the recovered power 

After long ailing, then in drouthy tide, 

Drinking the shower, its glossy leaves I spied. 

55. 

So with my little cagelings ! What a burst 

Of joy was mine, when, as the well-earned boon 

Had for some feather'd songster been disbursed, 
I heard it first carol its merry tune ! — 

Still in my heart so jealously is nursed 

My youthful feelings, that, beneath the moon 

Nought is, whence greater joy I still can prove 

Than from these objects of my early love. 



26 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

56. 

Thus may, in time, from sweet association, 
And watching- carefully our trains of thought 

As with aught coupled which excites sensation ; 
The mind to such a temperament be brought 

That all we see speaks to imagination 
A living hieroglyphic language, wrought 

So finely in each object of each sense 

That speechless nature may have eloquence. 

57. 

To him, when he beholds the opening- rose, 
Who can, by its means, every summer day 

Recall, when he had watched its buds disclose; 
Who can recall each love-pervaded lay 

That it has wakened ; every fair one knows 
On whose white bosom he has seen morn's ray 

Illume its dewy pearls, say, when he views 

The faint spring nurse it, must he not then muse 

58. 
With a far deeper feeling of delight, 

Than he can do, who only sees its bloom ? 
W 7 ho has no skill, from its most exquisite 

Display of loveliness, t' unseal the tomb 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 27 

Of many years departed ? Who, if sight 

Be charmed, dreams not, that in its soft perfume 
There is a spiritual incense, which imparts 
Melodious sweetness to poetic hearts ? 

59. 
Yes, to a soul rich in imagination, 

Th' appliances to each particular sense 
Are intertwined in such rich combination, 

That each evolves the other's influence ! — 
Thus hues well blended waken the sensation 

Derived from melody ; — and sounds intense, 
And sweet, bring portraitures to gifted eyes! 
Thus strike one sense, and all will harmonize ! 

60. 

Thus delicate perfumes will steal within 
The very soul, and be like music there ! — 

E'en lower senses, taste, and touch begin, 
By such a process, to acquire a rare, 

And unknown comprehensiveness ! 'Twere sin 
When of his cream, dates, cheese, and yellow pear, 

The Mantuan poet sings should one demur 

That each of these has moral character. 



28 VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 

61. 

Dreams of simplicity and purity, 

At once they raise : perhaps a further aim 

There may in these be couched : *one, whose decree 
Was ne'er neglected, where neglect was shame, 

Has said that there is an affinity 
Between man's regimen, and moral frame, 

Thus as mild natures love a simple food, 

A pungent diet pleases natures rude. 

62. 
But I would say to him who is well versed 

In th' hieroglyphic language of the heart, 
Nothing can be indifferent, so that nursed, 

By it may be or not the thinking part. 
The simplest meal where milk doth 'suagethe thirst, 

And eggs, and herbs, the appetite, with art 
May be arranged so — witness many a theme — 
As fitly to adorn the poet's dream. 

63. 
I ask of him, who has of Milton's hair 
That well sungf lock ; I ask of every one, 

* Rousseau. 

t See Foliage, by Leigh Hunt, pages 131, 132, 133. 



VIRGINIAN CREEPER. 29 

Who of that mulberry tree obtained a share 
Which has been hallowed to Fame's eldest son ; 

I ask of every pilgrim, who would spare 
His last, last mite, some relic to have won; 

I challenge these, to prove, in human hearts, 

How deep the feeling is, which love imparts 

64. 

T' inanimate objects when they're consecrate 
By holy recollections ! when their forms, 

With ready instinct, we associate 

With fame that lifts us, or with love that warms : 

This is a fickle age, and soon, or late, 

We shall feel shame for these pestiferous swarms 

Of theories, which would, with vain pretence, 

Bring desecration to the things of sense ! 

65. 
My song is ended ! Beauteous Plant, once more 

To thee I turn ; and thank thee, that, by mean 
Of thee, I have been able to restore 

A transient glimpse of a long parted scene ! 
Further, I thank thee, since fate had in store, 

Through thy kind mediation, that I've been 
The muse's inmate, and have gained, from her, 
A sequestration from the world's vain stir. 



STANZAS 

ON THE DIFFICULTY WITH WHICH, IN YOUTH, WE BRINOr 

HOME TO OUR HABITUAL CONSCIOUSNESS, 

THE IDEA OF DEATH. 



We were, fair Queen, 
Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, 
But such a day to-rnorrow as to-day, 
And to be boy eternal. 

The Winter's Talc, act 1 . scene 2. 

•< Not childhood alone, but the young man till thirty, never feels prac- 
tically that he is mortal. He knows it indeed, and if need were, he could 
preach a homily on the fragility of life ; but he brings it not home to 
himself, any more than in a hot June, we can appropriate to our ima- 
gination the freezing days of December." — Elia, Essays which have ap- 
peared under that signature in the London Magazine — New Year's Eve, 
p. 65. 



1. 

I'VE heard it said, and true is the remark, 
That till thrice ten years o'er our beings steal, 

We think we are immortal : that the spark 
Within us, not like flash from smitten steel 
Which instantaneous darkness doth conceal, 

Is inextinguishable : yes, 'tis true, 
Till we experimentally do feel, 

By some home thrust, how easy to subdue 

Life, it eternal seems to our fallacious view. 



32 STANZAS. 

2. 

I say not, should you ask a man though he 

Have not attained the age of thrice ten years, 
Whether he deem that he immortal be, 

That, with a rash " yes," he should shock your 
ears, 

Nay, I deny not, that, a man who bears 
The stamp of intellect, though he have lived 

But lustres two twice told, may e'en draw tears 
By edifying homily, achieved 
To prove the human frame was ne'er from death re- 
prieved. 

3. 

There is an outline in our life's first stage, 

Certain familiar forms, familiar friends, 
And certain land-marks of our pilgrimage, 

To each of these our earliest instinct tends : 

And 1 aver till death rapacious rends 
These pillars of our being, till we learn 

To feel that sense of fluctuation blends 
With all towards which in childhood we did yearn, 
To recognize our mutability we spurn. 



STANZAS. 33 

4. 

So long as these " familiar faces" last, 

So long as in our childhood's home we dwell, 
So long as of two generations past, 

Grandsire, and sire, the honoured beacons, tell, 

Of outposts to our being's citadel, 
That should, according to the likeliest chance, 

Lapsing themselves, our latest lapse foretel, 
So long at death we cast incredulous glance, 
Or dream of it as of an insubstantial trance. 

5. 

Besides there is a time, in early youth, 

When in ourselves we wholly live, when we 
Ascribe pre-eminence of actual truth, 

Pre-eminently give reality 

To our own sphere of life — until we see 
Things change around us, till our friends fall down 

Plucked by the hand of death, as from a tree 
The leaves of autumn, till we make our own 
The experience of the past from losses we have 
known ; 



34 STANZAS* 

6. 
We think that all, save that which we behold, 

Unreal is :— - our ancestors, when they 
To us are mentioned, as a tale that's told, 

Pass through our memories. — With a proud sur- 
vey, 
We think the point in which we live alway 
Will be the actual present. — Time doth tell 
A different lesson ; mouldering into clay 
Friend after friend we see, and every knell 
Some past illusion scares, some future hope doth 
quell. 

7. 
We say not, that herein there may not be 

Many exceptions. 'Tis the general rule 
Which here we do record. Mortality 

So early may have trained us in his school, 
So soon, or ere life's salient spark did cool, 
Our parents, from our grasp, may have been torn, 
So soon we have been " ^pushed" as " from the 
stool" 

* But now, they rise again 
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
And push us from our .stools. 

Macbeth, act 3d, scene 4th. 



STANZAS. 35 

Of life's brief empire, that bereft, forlorn, 

Life, ere our life matured, may of its hope be shorn. 

8. 
Religion too, by providential voice, 

May have, so early, trained us in her lore : — 
Truth may, so soon, have shewn the wiser choice 

Which the devoted Mary made of yore ; — 

Have drawn us, spite of all earth had in store, 
" To th* better cause," that we, quite exorcised, 

May, from our earliest years, have given o'er 
All mortal strife, and nothing else have prized 
Save that "pearl" for which all is cheaply sacrificed. 

9. 
But, in the common way, we seldom think 

Of death, till death not only hath mowed down 
Our dearest friends ; but till our hopes too shrink, 

Torn from us, as hereditary crown 

From abdicated King ; till fortune frown, 
And snap life's tenderest thread, we cast a glance, 

Of change unapprehensive, up and down, 
And quite absorbed in insubstantial trance, 
Think to behold, in life, an unchanged countenance. 
d 2 



30 STANZAS. 

10. 
We seldom think of death till thirty years 

Have somewhat cooled our blood, and quenched 
our thirst, 
And hunger, for that bliss, which no one fears 

To miss, and which when life's gay prospects first 

Open upon us, on our gaze doth burst 
In shapes so Proteus like. But from that time 

This thought with every form is interspersed, 
Like note of discord, or imperfect rhyme, 
Spoiling harmonious sounds, or poesy's sweet chime. 

11. 

'Till life's first scenes have undergone a change, 
'Till of old objects it have once been cleared, 

And others have arisen in that range 
Of observation, 'specially endeared 
To earliest sympathies ; till the all- feared, 

And silent despot, Death, have taken aim 

Against some bulwarks of our hearts which 
reared, 

Like Babel's tower, their venerated frame, 

Beneath whose shade we thought that danger never 
came: 



STANZAS. 



37 



12. 

'Till old things vanish, and till new ones rise, 

'Till in our childhood's home we look in vain 
For the kind greeting of those well-known eyes 

Which did of our's the firstling glances chain ; 

'Till we have quitted childhood's sheltered plain, 
And gained the summit of maturity, 

'Till that horizon fate did first ordain 
To bound our sight, doth sink away, and die, 
And new ones, at each stage, rise to our mental eye ; 

13. 

'Till these things be, the sense of permanence 
Dwells with our being, and though we, if asked 

If we immortal were, with eloquence 

Might prove our own mortality ; yet masked — 
So long as in the morn-beam we have basked 

Of earlier life, — so much is death's grim face, 
*Tbat, o'erinformed with happiness, o'ertasked 

With taste of bliss, it yields a pungent grace, 

A savour of sweet fear his antic feats to trace. 

* Oh, 'tis a blest time wheu we hold beneath 
The heart, such lavish hoardsof joy sincere, 
They e'en with sweetness pall 'till pungent made by fear. 
See Desultory Thoughts in London, and other Poems, p, 237, stan. 30. 



38 STANZAS. 

14. 

We see him then but as in masquerade, 

He comes but as the wizard of life's tale, 
But different far the case is when displayed, 

Before our vision are his banners pale ; 

When near the dwelling of our youth, the gale 
Which passes by, is tainted with his breath ; 

Then his imaginary trophies fail, 
And we no longer list with indrawn breath, 
Or hear with pleasing awe the chronicles of death. 

15. 

That which before excited, now appals ; 

That which before did stimulate, doth quell ; 
That which before did thrill, not dully falls 

On us, with leaden weight, like palsying spell !— 

Life, thou hast lost, that, without which, the cell 
Of fancy, no more teems with magic charms, 

Sense of security ! and those know well 
Who this experience gain of death's alarms, 
All is then lost except Religion ope her arms. 

16. 
Yes, there's a tide in life, in hope's fresh hues 
When all is bathed ; a time when we not yet 



STANZAS. 39 

Have shaken hands with fear : when joy endues, 
And bold aspiring- promises (the debt 
Not being yet drawn out, which, soon or late, 

Will stare us in the face we have to pay 
To pain, to sin, and man's degraded state) 

The splendid future ; and while on our way 

Illusion stili doth chaunt her necromantic lay. 

17. 

That time soon closes ! And, ah ! woe to him, 
When it has closed, who's not so wisely sown, 

That he may sing no spiritual harvest hymn ; 
Nor with such foresight planted as to own 
Interest in heaven's own garner ; never known 

Blighted to be or barren, from the' store 

Filled of celestial seed. East winds have blown 

In vain, and mildew sought its bane to pour 

On that celestial hoard, sound even to the core. 

18. 

We do not say, when on the term we fix 
Of thirty years, for death's dire revelation, 

When we contend that it doth never mix 
With all our thoughts till on the middle station 
Of life we gain prospective elevation 



40 STANZAS. 

More distant objects to descry than those 

Familiar ones, which moulded young sensation, 
That many chances may not interpose, 
That mood to antedate which from death's knowledge 
flows. 

19. 

A parent, brother, sister, or a friend, 

Tenderly loved, snatched from us in the bloom 
Of life, perchance sooner the veil may rend, 

Which hides from youthful eyes the yawning 
tomb. 

But yet though this should chance, it is our doom 
So full of joy, so full of hope to be, 

Mainly in life's first stages, that though gloom 
Be in the outline of our destiny 
It leaves our untouched spirits unimpaired and free, 

20. 

Like water lapsing o'er a glossy woof 

With unctuous juice impregnate. Whensoe'er 

This sense brought home of death, this heartfelt 
proof 
Of our mortality becomes our share, 
If we have not religion, deep despair 



STANZAS. 41 

Will seize upon our spirits, but if we 

Possess that blessed gift, joy shall they wear, 
As fades all life's substantiality, 
Th' unreal earth is lost in heaven's reality. 



STANZAS 

INTENDED AS A REPLY TO, AND A COMMENT ON, 
THE FOLLOWING LINES. 



OH would I not, the pulse of love to waken 

E'en in a being by the world rejected, 

Stoop to compliances the least connected 
With aught could flatter self ? Ah, was not this 

What of himself, when he himself depicted, 
Frankly confessed the paradox-loving Swiss 
*' To meet a second self is the sublime of bliss ?" 

Ah, was not this my wish ? My hope supreme ? 

Cannot a being, or in earth, or heaven, 
Be met with,— from the stigma of a dream,— 

To rescue him, who has with much toil, striven 

For such communion ? Like a spirit driven 
From comprehension by connatural things 

I, from the extremest ardour, ever given 
To man, for human sympathy, my wings 
Now flag, and glad would be to drink lethean springs. 

See Nug<e Canora, Stanzas by C. Lloyd, 
part o/Sth and 9th stanza. 



There are two ways in which we feel the home-thrusts of Religion, 
and they are diametrically opposite. The one from a coldblooded in- 
difference to the world ; and the other from loving pleasure to such a 
degTee,thatno eaTthly pleasure can satisfy that love. The ascetic are 
generally composed either of the insensible, or those who have an excess 
of sensibility ; of those for whom the world has no attractions) or those 
whom it attracts more than it can gratify. 



1. 

WHENEVER I have turned to meaner themes, 
From thee Religion, so much more as I 



44 STANZAS. 

Have been enabled by warm-glowing gleams 
To give resplendence to their imagery, 
So much the more, of infidelity 

A sense has risen, in my conscious breast, 
Towards that, which I know well is worthily 

Alone, on the well governed mind impressed, 

Towards that, whose joys alone no after stings molest. 

2. 

Celestial Spirit which erewhile didst deign 

Our elder Milton's hallowed prayer to hear, 
Do thou inspire my tributary strain, 

Breathe thou through every word that sense se- 
vere 

Of Truth ; and if aught eloquent appear, 
Let it to every one be manifest, 

That it flows from that empyrean clear, 
Where thou beside God's throne, a heavenly guest, 
With vision beatific evermore art blessed ! 

3. 

Long, long enough, have I on love enlarged, 
Wasting on idle theme my idle prime; — 

Not that I mean with folly may be charged 
Whate'er is not devotional in rhyme. 
But grant, that, from them shall result no crime, 



STANZAS. 45 

Yet human loves are vain, and end in air. 

Whereas that love which mounts on wings sublime 
Towards heaven, as everlastingly is fair, 
As sources whence it rose imperishable are. 

4. 
The natural impulse, of each natural mind, 

Enough doth souls to natural passions move : 
We little need persuasives, whence inclined 

The human heart may be to human love. 

But does experience, towards religion, prove 
This natural bias, in the human heart? 

Rather doth not each stress tend to remove, — 
Each impulse both of nature and of art, — 
This noblest of all themes from man's immortal part? 

5. 

Twixt other attributes which man doth share 
This is the difference, and religious lore, 

That ere on its first rudiments he dare 
To cast an eye, e'en to its inmost core 
The heart must be renewed ; no soul can soar 

To its most simple rules, till, on the wings 
Of the most holy Dove, it learn t'explore 



46 STANZAS. 

Truths, which, to those are, round whom this world 

clings, 
In heaven's own archives kept, unutterable things ! 

6. 

Father who gav'st me talents, 'tis my prayer, 
Since all unfit for bustling scenes I be, 

Since sequestration from those places, where 
Mankind, to grave affairs, most actively 
Is called, best suits my pensive tendency : — 

Do thou my humble aspiration bless, 
To bring a contribution tremblingly 

To that pure stock of truth, whose perfectness 

Best stays man's tottering steps through life's bleak 
wilderness, 

7. 
Father ! I ask, or in thy vineyard deign 

To let me be a labourer ; to be 
But " in thy house" " a door-keeper !" — no strain 

Of mine shall then flow discontentedly. 

Oh deign to make me something ; deign on me 
To shed th' anointing oil, that I may sing 

Loudly thy praises!— Or, if thy decree 



STANZAS. 47 

Claimant unfit deem me to touch the string 

Of thy most hallowed harp, hear my petitioning, — 

8. 
I then implore that thou would'st fashion so 

My natural talents, that, with them, I may 
Become a labourer while here below, 

To lessen human sorrows ! — Oh, I pray 

That I may be a something /—May the day, 
E'en of my pilgrimage, or ere it wane 

Behold a monument, whence men may say, 
" He, in his day, did his day's work !" Oh deign 
My lot to rescue from " unprofitable" stain ! 

9. 

Yet, if thy will be such, that neither I, — 
Or for " another and a better world," — 

Must throw my mite in of utility ; — 

Or e'en, in this, must see the flag unfurPd 
Of active use; — if I must thus be hurl'd, — 

To keep me humble, from each high career, 
Whence man is hailed with blessings ; — if I'm 
whirled 

Thus, from distinction's gratifying sphere : — 

Still moisten my pale cheek with gratitude's meek 
tear ! — 



4S STANZAS. 

10. 

Yes, let me never, never turn from thee ! — 

Whether I be an instrument of use : 
Or whether I am bound to bend the knee 

In nothingness ; — whether I can produce 

Aught of effect; or whether, thou, t' unloose, 
To unloose utterly, the mortal strings, 

Which bind me to this world, see'st fit, with noose, 
Hard as the gordian knot, to cramp my wings, 
And stamp me while I live, vilest of vilest things ! 

11. 
Yes, be thou " with me in the way I go !" 

Whether or poverty or wealth thou send ; — 
Be thou my all in all ! Be thee to know, — 

My heart's best treasure — as my souPs best friend ! 

To touch unworthily, do thou forefend, 
With an unhallowed hand, that ark of thine ! — 

What, what am I ? Though in the dust I bend, 
Let me rejoice, that while I lowly pine, 
Thousands of purer souls in thy white raiment 
shine ! 

12. 
I've elsewhere said, " cannot in earth, or heaven, 
Being be found, from stigma of a dream 



STANZAS. 49 

To rescue him who hath with much toil striven 
For human sympathy ?" Such the extreme 
Of folly, to expect, from turbid stream, 

To draw transparent waters, as to try 
In what is finite, what we still must deem 

Imperfect, stamped with mutability, 

There realized to find perfectibility ! 

13. 

No, no ! There is but One, God is that one, 
Who all the soul's deep wants can satisfy ; 

No, no ! There is but One, that Being alone 
Who made the heart, who thoroughly can spy 
Its labyrinthine windings. We may try 

To find another self as well, may seek 
As soon to double our identity 

As hope on earth the blessing to bespeak 

Of perfect love in man, so faulty and so weak ! 

14. 

As it might easily be made appear 
A perfect sameness in the inner frame 

Of the mind's structure, in two beings here 

Would argue that their persons were the same — 
Though biform, two such beings would but claim 

E 



50 STANZAS. 

Common identity. Therefore, I say, 
At such a consentaneousness to aim, 
Is, but in other words, to be the prey 
Of wishes fond as those which did Narcissus sway. 

15. 

It is, in short, to wish a second self, 

Yet not a second self to find : it is 
The wish to find another, whom some elf, 

Versed in fantastic metamorphosis, 

Hath made so like us, that in him we miss 
Nought save entire identity. How fond 

Is it on such a dream to found our bliss ! 
He who the finite ne'er can go beyond, 
Seeks happiness in vain, enthralled in error's bond ! 

16. 

To make this clear. If we but once allow 

(As most in present times admit) there dwells 
'Twixt such and such a temperament (though how 
Causation here doth operate quite repels 
Man's finite guest) yet if the fact compels 
Our credence, that a given cast of mind, 

A given symmetry of form foretels, 
Then must we grant, that, if two forms enshrined 
Two kindred souls, they were to kindred forms assigned. 



STANZAS. 51 

17. 

Now since two bodies never were the same, 
To seek two minds alike, vain is the quest : 

Alleviation is what we should claim, 
A soothing of the ills which life molest 
From human sympathy ; but he whose breast 

Is fired with notion that he may discern 

Being through whom he may be wholly blest, 

Seeking for that which cannot be, will earn 

Nought but conviction sad how idly he did yearn. 

18. 

Besides — but that 'tis foreign to our theme — 

It were not difficult the fact to prove 
That those most sympathy enjoy, whose stream 

Of thought, like twy-born founts, diversely move. 

We, those that are our opposites, most love ; 
Where we're deficient, those who most abound ; 

Those who're deficient where we soar above 
The common standard ; if with candour crowned, 
And mutual comprehensiveness such tie be found. 

19. 

In such a case a mutual aid is given ; — 
One moral being of two counterparts 
e2 



52 STANZAS. 

Is formed ; and thus each brings a leaven 
Whence each to t' other's scantiness imparts. 
But e'en in this, best tie of human hearts, 

Those imperfections which are still the bane 
Of all that is of man, with poisonous arts, 

Will interfere : no plant of earthly strain 

Did e'er yet grow mature, unblemished with a stair 

20. 

No, he who made the heart, can only know 
Its wants ; he only who is infinite 

Can e'er appease th' unutterable throe, 

With which the soul doth pant for pure delight : 
He who while he doth perfectly requite 

That individual wish, can do as much, 
. As for that individual, by his might, 

For every one whose heart doth own the touch 

Of grace, which leads it still from heaven its all t 
snatch. 

21. 

Though man be finite, still his wishes are 
Indefinite, if not infinite : tell me then, 

Is there not an insuperable bar, 

'Twixt finite beings rendering back again 



STANZAS. 53 

T' each other all they wish ? As we are men 
We're with pure reason gifted. This doth tend 

To th' infinite. However we may strain 
All possibilities, when man doth blend 
With man, an aching void that union will attend. 

22. 

No accidents of chance can hinder this; 

No possibilities of fate evade ; 
Cease then the vain complaint of scanty bliss 

Attending human sympathy ! By aid 

Of true philosophy is soon displayed 
Its impotence to satisfy the soul 

A thirst for living waters. Disarrayed 
Be man then of the captivating dole, 
Falsely to him ascribed, man's comfort to controul ! 

23. 

|f thou have sensibility, a heart 

Impatient of th' imperfect joys of earth ; 
If thou have vainly sought to play thy part, 

For blessings deemed here of most reverend worth ; 

And if, like bubbles, thou have found their birth 
But harbinger' d their doom ; how soon the stream 

Exhausted, which from this world gushes forth ; 



54 STANZAS. 

If thou have found that joys from earth which teem, 
"When once their taste is o'er, are joys but in a dream. 

24. 

Remember still there's a resource for thee : 
If thou'rt a mystery to thyself, to all ; 

Still to thy God thou art no mystery :— 

Yes, He, without whose care there doth not fall 
A sparrow to the ground, however small; 

Howe'er profound, how ntterless soe'er 

Thy griefs, if thou on him with faith wilt call, 

Can bring a sure relief to thy despair ; 

And raise elysian blooms where all seemed bleak and 
bare. 

25. 

There cannot be a mood of mind so dim, 

So evanescent, imperceptible, 
But it is clear as noon of day to him ; 

He sees thy rising cares or ere they fill 

Thine eyes with tears; and if with passive will 
Thou at his foot-stool meekly wilt fall down 

The tumult of thy anguish he will still, 
And all the contrite tears thy cheek which drown 
Will add a living gem to faith's immortal crown. 



STANZAS. 55 

26. 

So far with tolerance th' instinct do I see 
Which leads the spirit with devotion fond, 

To seek in youth for perfect sympathy 
In other human hearts, that few this bond 
Who have not sought, few who have never conned 

With weak idolatry, a human face, 

And found how vain were human loves ; beyond 

Were ever led to go : triumphs of grace 

Are oftenest gained by souls driven from love's earth- 
ly race, 

27. 

The principle of love must be implanted, 
Or e'en divine love ne'er will take its root : 

Small hope for those who're of this instinct scanted : 
Small hope for those involved in low pursuit 
Of interest or ambition ! Who with brute, 

And earthward gaze see nought beyond themselves : 
But hope, ye mourners, who with anguish mute, 

See each foundation, like a train of elves, 

Vanish, which human skill unprofitably delves. 

28. 
As to Religion's cause, one well might hope, 
Rather to gain th' idolater, than one 



56 STANZAS. 

Who loves in atheistic gloom to mope: — 
So may we rather hope he may be won 
To love his God, him whom the fervid sun 

Of love hath fevered, whose still earnest eye 
Some outward idol still is fixed upon, 

Than him in self-involved captivity, 

Who thinks he's free since self doth doom his slavery. 

29. 
Passion, love, adoration ! Fine the links 

That in progressive process join these three, 
Cursed is that soul, which gifted, basely sinks 

From last of these to that first named ! So he, 

Who is so wise, if he defeated be 
In passion, and in love, to raise his thought 

In adoration, from th' idolatry 
Of passion, and of love, will soon be taught 
That superhuman bliss is by the latter brought. 

30. 
" There is a bliss the eye hath never seen, 

" There is a bliss the ear hath never heard, 
" Nor hath it ever comprehended been: — 

" And though on man's heart 'tis sometimes con- 

f erred," 
Never except on him whose heart is stirred 



STANZAS. 57 

With spiritual communion : he who drinks 
Of that immortal fount, to him preferred 
Is that pure peace, which while it deeply sinks 
Into our heart of hearts, speech from its utterance 
shrinks. 

31. 

Oh God, give me, and I will never crave 

An earthly joy, that peace which passeth words; 
That peace whose smile can hover o'er the grave, 

That peace whose inner wealth can shame all 
hoards 

Of bliss terrestrial ; that peace which affords 
Pity to other's sorrow ; and which feels, 

E'en while it braves the edge of hostile swords, 
And binds all human wounds, and while it kneels 
E'en by the bed of death, a blessedness which heals. 

32. 

Yes, I rejoice in spirit, when I think 

On this tried panacea : 'tis a balm 
Which to the depth of deepest wounds may siuk, 

Which the most troubled soul may quickly calm. 

Ask it of God then, ask it ! 'Tis an aim 
lie freely doth vouchsafe : but oh, how rare 

The privilege to sing a grateful psalm 



58 STANZAS. 

For its bequest* save by those, who, in prayer, 
Bankrupt in earthly hope, turn heavenward in de- 
spair !— 

33. 

Yes, could I wish for others or myself; 

It were, that, pierced the veil 'twixt thee and me, 
My God, I, sacrificing earthly pelf, 

Might view, as the supreme reality, 

Thee, and the world of spirits. Who that's free 
Would wish to be imprisoned ? Who that could 

Carry his thoughts to all eternity, 
In glad progression, forward, would be mewed 
In seventy years brief space of ailing flesh and blood ? 

84. 

But how shall this be gained ? By fervent prayer— 

" In season, out of season, in prayer" " be 
" Instant," th' Apostle saith. First station there — 

In yon bright mansion of eternity, 

Thy heart's chief loves, and thou wilt quickly see, 
With spiritual eye, far clearer than on earth, 

To the natural eye— with more reality— 
Than to that eye those forms which here have birth, 
Objects surpassing man's weak powers to body forth ! 



STANZAS, 59 

35. 

I talk not of ecstatic vision ! — no : — 

Nor of conversion instantaneous speak : 
Few, few gain such immunity below, 

From thrall of flesh and blood, save him whose 
cheek 

Contrition oft hath dewed with tear-drops meek : 
Tis a slow process in most hearts, to wean 

Them so from this world's coil, that on them break, 
With all the freshness of a real scene, 
Those glories hid behind mortality's dim skreen. 

36. 
Be humble, — be resigned, — be penitent: — 

Be God's thy will : — the spirit of prayer be thine ; 
The spirit of love : be with each chance content 
That seems to fall out in th' appointed line 
Of Providence. Let not thy soul repine, 
Nor yield it e'er to fruitless retrospect. 

Save when thou feel'st admonished from the 
shrine 
Of awful conscience, that, by some neglect 
Of thine, thou pay'st the fine for God's will by thee 
checked. 



CO STANZAS. 

37. 

In God then liv'st, thou mov'st, thy being hast; 

Bring this truth home to constant consciousness ; 
About thy bed, about thy path, is placed 

The angel of his presence. Dost thou press 

Thy bed down-lying ; rising, doth the stress 
Of the day's duties crowd upon thy thought; 

Still ever in adoring awfulness 
Be, to thy spirit, the reflection brought, 
That wheresoe'er thou art, is with his presence 
fraught. 






LINES 

WRITTEN FEB. 6, 1822, ON THE DEATH OF MARY 
LLOYD, MOTHER OF THE AUTHOR. 



JVIy dearest Mother, could a lay of mine 

Rescue thy memory from oblivion's gloom, 

How gladly would my efforts try to build 

Th' imperishable verse; for thou wert one 

Deserving well the love of those that knew'thee. 

Pious thou wert, sincere, and elevate 

Above all vulgar thought: thy heart, the seat 

Of every finer sensibility, 

Was not for this world's ways. How well do I 

Remember, when I yet was but a boy, 

And only knew of death by name: ne'er yet 

Had felt the nearest interests of my heart 

Rent by its cold inexorable hand; 

How well do I still recollect the beam 

That brightened in thine eye, and o'er thy face 

Spread like a glory, when some lovely scene 

Of nature called on thee to gaze; or when 

In book which thou perusedst thou did meet 






62 LINESi 

With sympathetic sentiment, from strain 

Lofty, impassioned, generous, or devout. 

How well do I remember when on eve 

Of summer, thou didst sit, and watch the sun's 

Last radiance, watch the simple landscape seen 

From nether windows of thy then abode, 

With houses otherwise encompassed, how 

Do I remember what serenity, 

Bespeaking solemn and unearthly thoughts, 

Brooded on all thy person ! How thou lookedst 

Still I recall to mind, and too recall 

How oft such hour by some appropriate strain 

From the Seasons' bard, and him of flight more 

lofty, 
The Poet who did tune his sacred harp 
To tell of man's first innocence, his fall, 
And restoration, — how such hour was filled 
By some appropriate strain from these with taste 
Selected ; — thy enunciation graced 
Each apt quotation : for thy countenance, 
Each gesture, tone of voice, an earnest gave, 
Thou lentest more of feeling to the strain 
By thee recited, than thou drew'st from thence. 
Thou wert meet Priestess for an hour like this ! 
Thine was a breast tuned to each holier thought ! 



LINES. G3* 

Thine was a voice which e'en an angel might 
Have made its organ, in discourse with man 
Rendering thee his interpretress ! so free 
From aught of vulgar, sordid, mean, or low, 
Were all thy feelings, that not only thou 
Didst never to a mood which these inspire 
Give utterance, but also in thy breast 
Instinct connatural to such impulses 
Could not be found ! 

Thou hadst a fiery spirit, 
But yet of fire celestial ! and the flame 
Thou inly nursedst, like a vestal light 
Diffused its radiance round thy daily path, 
Shone in thy countenance, purified thy words 
From all alloy terrestrial: (never thought 
By this world's dross adulterate dimmed their bright- 
ness) 
Pure was thy love as that which we conceive 
Souls disembodied feel for spirits purged 
From all material sediment. Thou art gone ! 
The scene in which thou movedst now is filled 
By other objects. No more doth thy keen, 
And searching spirit, o'er the haunts preside, 
Where to thy friends thy form was once familiar ! 
Thus do the generations pass away ! 






64 LINES. 

And nought is left of those we most did love, 

Most cherished, and most reverenced, those who 

most 
Endeared to us our span of life below, 
But their remembrance living in our hearts. 
So will it ere long fare with him who now 
Indites this frail memorial. Ah, were life, 
So brittle are its best of gifts, worth having, 
Were there not hope that every struggle here 
Will yet be recognized ! Each tear we shed 
Of sorrow, or contrition, yet recalled, 
And with a crown rewarded ! There's a voice 
Which tells us that supreme reality 
Is not in things of sense ! They who have felt 
Their spirits lifted by the power of prayer, 
These, these can tell that power doth with it bring 
Secret assurance of its genuine worth ! 
What causes us when we are told of those 
Whose robes are whitened in their Saviour's blood, 
Of those who have as conquerors come forth 
From many tribulations, what doth cause 
That secret earnestness the spirit feels 
To be of that blest number? Why, if things 
Of sense were doomed to be our chiefest good, 
Do things of sense ne'er satisfy the soul, 






LINES, 



65 



Do thing's of sense ne'er satisfy the soul, 

And vaguest promises of Gospel joy, 

Bring greater confirmation to the spirit 

Wrestling with passions, and with tempting baits 

Of sj>eciousest allurement, than all things 

The world can give ? Why do we find our life, 

Then when we lose it, most ? Or whence arise 

The stubborn facts, that having sacrificed 

The bulkiest treasures of this bustling world, 

For things not only here invisible, 

But also oft but half imagined, we 

Feel a deep calm that tells us we are wise ? 

It is that there is truth in virtue's hopes ! 

Let a man have not only all this world 

Can give externally, but let him too 

Have all internal powers adapted best 

To most voluptuous pleasures of existence, 

Still will his joys, like motes before the eye 

On a warm summer's day, suddenly vanish ; 

Fall from him like the dim imaginings 

Of half-remembered dreams, and like a corse, 

Cold and inanimate, — and worse than this, — 

E'en like a culprit caught in act of guilt, 

Appalled, surprised, convicted, smote with shame, 

F 



€)Ti LINES. 

Leave him a statue of mute wonderment ! 
Do virtue's promises deceive us thus ? — 
Do they forsake us when we want them most ? 
Do they fly from us, like unfaithful friends 
From a sick comrade, or from death-bed scene ? 
When we most want reality, are they 
Not then most real found ? They may indeed 
By turbulent pleasures of this bustling world 
Be scared away : but not like parasites, 
They best bested us when we need them most ! 
Like worldly men, the pleasures of this world 
Add confluence but to confluence ! But the joys 
Derived from virtue live in solitude: 
Comfort e'en indigence, where lack of friends 
Is most regretted, there they most repair, 
O'er pain they triumph, and defy e'en death ! 

My Mother, thou hadst well these truths discerned ! 
Though blest with sense, and polished manners, thou 
E'en in the flower of youth didst wisely turn 
From all the proffered flatteries of life, 
And seeking that within, which other's seek 
Without, thou addedst to the Confessors 
By whom the ways of truth are justified ! 
Thine own example furnishing best proof 



LINES, 67 

That e'en in sickness (for thou sufferedst much 
From this the greatest enemy to joy, 
Save that which doth assail the sons of guilt) 
That e'en in sickness, there may be discovered 
A never-failing balm. Though therein thee 
Was found that sensibility which oft 
Exaggerates life's joys, in thee it brought 
Its own redress. For while it haply raised 
The smothered sigh for more than common bliss, 
That delicacy hence thy soul imbibed, 
Forbade all earthly bliss to satisfy 
Its most importunate cravings, — 

My weak art 
Is all inadequate to draw thee forth 
From death's oblivious gloom ; thee to pourtray 
As thou wert seen, and known, and felt to be. 
But never, never can my heart forget 
The influence of thy presence ! I am proud 
Now to reflect I was with mother blest, 
Who although she was with humility 
Clad as a daily garb, never betrayed, 
In thought, or word, or action, any impulse 
Not fittted for the universe to witness. 

Thou wert by nature eminently blessed 
With powers of nice discrimination. Thou 
f2 



m 



08 LINES. 

Couldst see at once through veil the most opaque 
Hypocrisy assumed. Thou wert not soon 
Duped by professions. Flattery thou didst hate. 
To thee the best of flatteries was to be 
Unflattering; thy best homage, sympathy. 
Thy sense of nice propriety extended 
From things to persons. Thou didst always call 
Forth others latent powers : didst evermore 
Thyself forget in company with others. 
The rites of hospitality thou ne'er 
Neglectedst : to thy table, to thy roof, 
None came unwelcome, whatsoe'er the hour, — 
Thy mood. — thy pressures of anxiety, — 
And I have heard it said by Him who best 
Knew thy life's tenor, that he never saw thee, 
Save with a smile of kindly courteous welcome, 
Greet e'en the guest the most inopportune : 
And best of introductions to thy notice, 
Was it to feel that notice might give joy, — 
Do good, — at least some sorrow mitigate ! 
Not like the worldling who doth ever seek 
The flux of company, thou chiefly turnedst 
Thy kind attention where it most could find 
A heart whose desolation it might gladden. 

In thee a perfectly decorous bearing 
Was not, like garb of state, put on alone 



LINES. (59 

For festal days ; an emanation 'twas 

From a still cleaving sense most exquisite, 

Most unremitting, of propriety. 

And those who saw thee might perhaps at first, 

More than by love, be, by respect, impressed : 

Provided that, if they discriminate powers 

Possessed, they had not soon discovered thou 

Beneath this veil of nice propriety 

Conceal'dst a heart where tenderest feelings dwelt : 

'Twas not because she felt not, 'twas because 

Her feelings were too lofty for this world, 

It was because that she, to those she loved 

Could give perchance more than they could return, 

And that a secret intimating instinct 

This truth suggested, perhaps not self-confessed 

From her abundant lowliness of heart, 

'Twas hence the panoply of circumspection 

Did so conspicuously guard her life, 

That to the superficial she might seem 

Reserved, unbending, rigid, and austere ! — 

But no, let those who as a mother saw thee 

When thou hadst babes that asked a mother's care, 

Let those who saw thee when the poor did plead, 

Let those who saw thee when an o'ercharged heart 

Gave to the tongue the utterance it needed, 



70 LINES. 

To pour its secret sorrows to thy ears, — 

Let these say how thou feltest! Though thyself 

Not only wert from every stain exempt, 

But that not e'en the most pestiferous breath 

Of most deliberate malevolence 

Could ever in thy conduct find a flaw, 

Yet thou wert ever ready to discern 

Some palliative for frailties of mankind. 

In thee the fallen, not a censurer 

Found, but a sorrowing, sympathetic friend ! 

Griefs came she even in the garb of vice, 

To thee was sacred ; and if charity 

May indeed cover multitude of sins, 

What may not then be said of it when borne— 

(Not as antagonist weight so to eke out 

Our own slack worthiness) — by one like thee, 

Exempted from all need (as men wear masks) 

With one compensatory grace to hide 

A thousand failings ? No, in thee it was 

A fresh, gratuitous, and healthful spring 

Like that of living waters : not squeezed out, 

A most equivocal distilment, drawn, 

(By process as elaborate as those 

Of antique chemistry) from neighbouring vices ! 

Thine was no maudling, whimpering charity ! 



LINES. 71 

It was the charity of one whose breast, 
Rich in its own creations, owed to these 
A consciousness of all man's heart can feel ; 
In that warm bosom there did dwell enshrined 
A human microcosm, which reflected 
All the mind's accidents ; and though in her 
Each impulse not consistent with true worth, 
If it had e'er had birth, had been repressed, 
This opulence of nature, this rich gift 
Of human intuitions, qualified — 
(As mariners assisted by a compass 
May unknown seas explore) — her to extend 
E'en to the obscurest regions of the mind, 
To all those passions which command our tears, 
To all those impulses which would be voiceless 
Had they not correspondent sighs and groans, 
A quick discernment, and a sympathy 
Which almost did anticipate the prayer 
Labouring for utterance in an aching heart 
Desirous of her aid, to speak ashamed ! 



STANZAS 

Written the 7th and 10th of February, 

ON THE DEATH OF MARY BRAITHWAITE, THE THIRD 
SISTER OF THE AUTHOR. 



1. 

IF innocence, and saint-like truth 
Persisted in from earliest youth, 

If passiveness so sweet, 
In her so patient was, it might, 
If praise it sought, that praise excite 

Which active virtues meet, 

2. 

If all that marks the christian here, 
The soul devout, the ready tear, 

For every child of woe ; 
If these, dear Mary, might require 
The votive lay, well from my lyre 

The elegy may flow. 



74 



STANZAS. 



3. 

The tender grace in thee enshrined, 
Thy patient gentleness of mind, 

Thy saint-like purity, 
Perfect exemption from each thought 
Of ill in others ; thy untaught, 

And deep humility ; 

4. 

Thy tender care, in deed and word, 
That wrong should never be incurred 

From thee by any one : 
Thy habit all things to refer 
To the Almighty Arbiter, 

And Hiin to serve alone: 

5. 
To those that knew thee, these might well 
Inspire the wish like thee t'excel 

In every christian grace : 
Thou liv'st in each of these enshrined ; 
Each gains new strength, thee called to mind, 

To run the christian race. 



STANZAS. 
6. 

Oh, what a fool were such as thou, 
Did no dread Being hear the vow 

Which those like thee profess, 
To die to every human hope, 
And give to no fond wish a scope, 

Save those which heaven may bless. 

7. 

No wish hadst thou, but such as sprung 
From heaven ! To its blest mansions clung 

All hopes which thee did rule : 
If vain those hopes, like hopes beneath, 
Then ttmu of every child of Eve 

Wert most indeed a fool ! 

8. 
But since in the dread human plan, 
No other instinct's given to man 

With purpose to confound, 
No end that cheers its appetence : — 
We may, with faith, infer from hence, 

Thou soughtedst, and hast found. 






76 



STANZAS. 



9. 

Say is it not a startling fact, 
Thousands are drawn the part to act 

Of dying, so to live ! 
Or we must deem our life a lie, 
Or in such fact as this we spy 

A pledge that heaven will give. 

10. 

From Heaven, a pledge, immortal life 
To give to those who to the strife 

Of duty nobly press : 
For as in other instincts, we, 
An end, by intuition, see, 

So faith can own no less. 

11. 

But little, little can the world, 

Little those sons of men who're hurled 

In passion's ceaseless maze ; 
Tell what the conflict is to those 
Who feel the food from heaven that flows 

Alone their want allays. 



STANZAS. // 

12. 

Oh, say ye, who have once drunk deep 
Of living waters; who must reap 

Immortally, or die, 
From sensuous joys how many fasts, 
How much toil your's long as life lasts, 

And inward agony ! 

13. 

How many tears ye shed alone ! 

How many a {inngy how m nay a ^ s aiT sigf fr V e ^ e 

Which no one seems to hear ! 
How many longings that your breast 
Might be like others, blessing, blest, 

Unfolded to no ear ! 

14. 

How many times, when nigh to faint, 
Ye fain would have the hard restraint, 

The austere interdict, 
Which severs you from things of sense, 
Repealed ; and mockings which from hence 

Men of the world inflict. 



78 STANZAS. 

15. 

How many times, when ye're gainsaid, 
When ye are scoffed, when all upbraid^. 

Ye live in solitude ! 
A solitude which few can tell ; 
A solitude which those know well 

Whom heaven hath here renewed ! 

16. 

But bear ye up courageously ! 
A day will come, a time will be 

Wlien you in your turn shall, 
That you've been willing to be poor 
On earth, heaven's interest to secure, 

Triumphantly recall. 

17. 

Not that we mean that what is done, 
So that thereby a prize be won, 

Can ever win that prize ! 
No ! we to all of self must die, 
Or ere supreme reality 

Is opened to our eyes. 



STANZAS. 7D 



18. 

We speak of consequence, not cause. 
Heaven comes from faith in heavenly laws, 

But comes alone to those 
Who, by a heavenly instinct led, 
Feel bound, though living, to be dead, 

To all the world bestows ! 

19. 

These drawn by love, and deemed as fools, 
Expedience calculating rules 

Will loyally disdain. 
They know that God doth love that mind, 
Acting in passive meekness, blind, 

Which love's pure laws constrain. 

20. 
Oh Mary, thou, by such as these, 
Might'st well amid degenerate days 

Be as a pattern held ! 
Thou said'st not much ; professedst less ; 
But thy whole life did best express 

What aim that life impelled! 



80 STANZAS, 

21. 

In scenes domestic thou wert seen 
To most advantage : there serene 

Thy virtues knew no cloud : 
Not like our modern matrons, thou, 
With theories primed ; in all the shew 

Of education proud ! 

22. 

Thou sattest like the brooding hen, 
Thy little ones round thee ! No ken 

From thee did ever roam, 
Like as from those of baffled aim 
In prouder flatteries, to claim 

Divinity at home ! 

23. 

Love was thy ruling principle ; 
Love that has neither wish, nor will, 

Save those which end in love : 
As others' praise thou ne'er hadst sought, 
Their praise or blame ne'er caused thy thought 

From love's calm sphere to rove. 






STANZAS. 81 

24. 

Thou little wishedst child of thine 
In vain accomplishments to shine, 

Nor yet, with cynic tongue, 
Sough t'st thou to check its growth, if chance 
Some genial exuberance 

In nature's order sprung. 

25. 

All affectation thou didst hate: 
To be, not to appear: to wait 

In patience for the hour, 
Was thine, when thou, by choice of mood, 
Of time, and place, couldst call up good, 

Clothed from above with power ! 

26. 
Thou mov'dst in patience, and wert still 
In mind; seeking to work the will 

Of Him who rules above : 
Of Him who, to his little ones, 
Gives to repress earth's mightiest sons, 

With energy of love ! 



82 STANZAS. 

27. 

Yes ; thou, in thy humility, 
Thy gentleness, simplicity, 

Might'st be an instance quoted, 
That God, the worldly to confound, 
Than strength more signally hath crowned, 

Weakness to him devoted. 

28. 
By weakness here none can suspect 
Is meant deficient intellect ; 

That lowliness we mean 
Which dare not move in its own will ; 
That finds its strength in being still : 

In anguish is serene. 

29. 
Though tender thou, and delicate, 
And, in thy youth, on thee did wait, 

To fallen flesh and blood, 
Those comforts which are most endeared; 
As one that all defilement feared, 

These were by thee withstood ! 



STANZAS. 
30. 

Why, if to render man the sport 
Of fate, is he thus taught to court 

E'en voluntary pain ? 
Why see we not each brutish tribe 
The strange obliquity imbibe ? 

From appetites refrain ? 

31. 

'Twould be as easy so to make 
Instinctively e'en brutes forsake 

That which they most desired, 
If this were but a play in Him 
Who rules the universal scheme, 

And for no end required. 

32. 
By instinct thwarting instinct, so 
Brutes might the like confusion know 

As that of tongues in Babel, 
Were it, as sophists oft have written 
Men are with love of penance smitten, 

To be their Maker's fable. 

g2 



84 STANZAS, 

S3. 

Yes, if entire perplexity, 
And one grand universal lie 

Were that which heaven devised, 
Thus it might be ! But no, 'tis proved 
That man by heaven is chiefly lov'd, 

Since man's alone " chastised." 

34. 

Yes, man — and man alone is left ! 
The noblest of all creatures 'reft 

Alone, of powers to reap 
A satisfaction full, entire, 
From what as creatures men desire, 

To sleep, to feed, — and weep ! 

35. 

Man is the sole discordant thing ; 
In man alone there jars a string 

Of endless discontent : 
He is, 'till influence from above 
Tune him to harmony of love, 

Like shattered instrument. 



STANZAS. 85 

36. 

What, Mary, though thou'st early paid 
The debt to nature ! All is said 

Which need our care engage, 
When 'tis pronounced, " thy task is done, 
And well !" and thou hast fairly won, 

By spotless* life, old age ! 

* But wisdom is the grey hair unto men, and an unspotted life old 
age .—Wisdom of Solomon, chap. 4, v. 9. 



STANZAS TO ENNUI. 

Written February 13, 1823. 



Vous m'avez dit souvent, quand je me plaignois de l'ennui, qn'il 
etoit le inalheur des gens heureux. 

Letters of Madame de Deffand to Lord Orford, 
vol. 3, p. 294. 



1. 

1 E10U soul destroying fiend, I've heard 
It, by philosophers averred, 

That thou alone dost come, 
To visit with thy pale unrest 
The chambers of the human breast, 

Where too much happiness hath fixed its home. 

2. 

I grant that thou dost chiefly reign 
O'er men, exempted from the train 
Of life's external woes ; 



88 STANZAS. 

But hence 'twill never be allowed, 
By me, thy influence is bestowed 

Where with joys plethora the mind o'er flows 

3. 

Thou art, if I correctly can 
Read thy prognostic in each man 

Who by thy plague is cursed, 
The child of sensibility, 
Begot on cynic apathy, 

And art by selfish introversion nursed, 

4. 

Too well I know thy gnawing power ; 
Too long, have hour succeeding hour, 

Felt in my heart thy pest, 
Which roving yet unsatisfied, 
Languid, feels evermore denied, 

In every exigence, refreshing rest. 

5. 

A ceaseless restlessness doth goad 
The wretch devoted to the load 
With which thou dost oppress 



L i£ofC. 



STANZAS. 89 

The abject soul: which all things willeth, 
Yet nothing it can meet with stilleth 
Its keen, and yet fastidious, eagerness. 

6. 

As wretch who tosseth on a bed, 
Where burning fever doth impede 

All postures ease to yield ; 
So thou like Tantalus athirst 
With deepest impotence art cursed 

To grasp at that by which thou might's* be healed. 

7. 
Thou turnest to the azure sky, 
And with a scrutinizing eye 

Dost ask of every birth 
Of nature, wont to fill with tears 
Thine eyes, what withers now 7 and seres, 

The splendid firmament, the gorgeous earth. 

8. 
'Tis passion is thy element, 
Its want, the secret, inly pent, 
Which conjures up thy hell: — 



90 STANZAS. 

Thy deep and deadly virulence 
Is only neutralised from hence : — ■ 

Save in impassioned hearts didst thou e'er dwell? 

9. 

Another and more venial cause 
Whence all the power in thee that gnaws 

Our vitals, and devours, 
Is it where those of active mind, 
To small circumference confined, 

Have scant external aims to vast internal powers, 

10. 

Those who require love's genial heat 
To cause their pulse with health to beat, 

By dire fatality, 
These, these will be the reprobates 
On whom thy retribution waits, 

For every hour of past felicity. 

11. 

It is a fact : we know not why 
A fact, but most assuredly 
One that experience proves, 



STANZAS. 91 

Where sensibility doth 'bide 

(To passion, that, we mean, allied) 

Seldom benevolence doth fix her loves. 

12. 

Of human panaceas found, 

To mitigate thy festering wound, 

Benevolent desires 
Since teaching us, like genial elves 
In other's cause to lose ourselves, 

Most certainly appease its wasting fires. 

13. 

We may be gentle, may be soft, 
May sensitively shrink as oft 

As we of sorrow hear, 
Yet not this sentimental trait. 
One moment from th' imperious sway 

Will exorcise our hearts of selfish fear. 

14. 

'Tis from benevolence alone, 

Not sensibility, whence won 

Is ennui's disenthralment. 



92 



STANZAS. 



Her soft conception of distress 
Is oft allied to helplessness, 

And shrinks from duty's uniform instalment. 

15. 

But yet on t'other hand we may 
Affirm that those who bear the sway 

Meekly of passive woe, 
"Who dare not move until they're led 
By him by whom the raven's fed, 

An insight most profound in duty's mysteries 
know. 

16. 
Those who, by doing, always can 
Fill wisely up the little span 

Of life, to men assigned, 
These, as they ne'er can, the condition 
Know, of entire self-inanition, 

With its deep conflict ne'er can be refined. 

17. 

Passion is man's sublimity 
By nature ! Passion's mastery 
Religion's highest boast ! 



STANZAS. 03 

But how that mind must be baptised, 
Till 'tis so fully exorcised, 

That all of grace is gained, since all of flesh is 
lost. 

18. 
But waive we this. — When with a sigh 
We thought of thee, no homily 

Was in our breast arranged; 
We fain would paint thee as thou art, 
And try, since thou'lt not draw thy dart, 

By analyzing thee, to be avenged. 

19. 

As 'tis a sane arbitrement, 

With vassal talents, which prevent 

All conflicts in sensation, 
That best thy influence evade ; — 
So to thy pest all lends an aid 

When the sick will depends on stimulation. 

20. 
When to the influence of thy curse 
We yield, thou of caprice art nurse, 
And all fastidiousness : — 



94 STANZAS. 

When we bend humbly 'neath the scourge 
Thou dost inexorably urge, 

Thy handmaid Patience comes at length to bless. 

21. 

If borne with, (thou who most dost love 
Self-centred spirit to reprove) 

Of self-annihilation 
Thou art the teacher ! If we nurse, 
By luxury, thy insidious curse, 

We forfeit finally, from thee, salvation. 

22. 

Oh, when in youth, in all we see 
There's freshness, life, and novelty, 

And passion's conscience sleeps, 
Oh, what enlargement then we feel ! 
Then no remorse with muttered spell 

Pursues our steps, and o'er our shoulder peeps ! 

23. 

Of every state by thee assailed, 
None are there, o'er which thou'st prevailed, 
Like thine, Satiety ! 



STANZAS. 95 

Thence, Ennui, are the bloated slaves, 
Thence, as the Vampires spring from graves, 
All that vast train of minions waits on thee ! 

24. 
'Tis better far to wish in vain, 
Than not to have a wish t' unchain 

The fetters of the soul : 
'Tis better far to feel a want, 
Than not to have a breath, a pant, 

Severing the stagnant clouds that round thee roll ! 

25. 

Of every state, the worst! in which 
No expectation doth enrich 

Monotony's blank mood ! 
Pd rather writhe in pangs, than bear, 
Satiety's plethoric heir, 

A wishless state, o'ergorged with plenitude ! 

26. 
Oh Love ! Thou art the sovereign good 
To man ! We mean not here t'allude, 
By love, to amorous wiles, 



06 STANZAS. 

We mean by love, that plastic will, 
By which a human being still 

With other's interest his own beguiles. 



27. 

Oh never freeze my heart, ye powers, 
That rule man's destiny ! No flowers 

Can e'er his path adorn, 
Who with a cold self-centred heart, 
Ne'er lendeth out the smallest part 

Of that whence personal happiness is born. 

28. 
Ne'er let my tears for others' woe 
Spontaneously cease to flow ! 

Invoking charity, 
No cold exemption do I claim 
From ills that quench the vital flame, 

And Ennui's strongest spells do I defy ! 



THE END. 



